The Dog Days are Over
by Otaku Samurai
Summary: As he pushed the door out of the Mojave Outpost, the first thought that came to mind after he left was "Damn, look at that ass." Of course, it was probably the whiskey talking, since everything after that was all just a blur. Cass/M!Courier


**Hey guys, this is a small "for fun" project I'm doing. I'm not sure if this will end up as fluff or not. I'm pretty much just taking a shot in the dark xD**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout: NV.**

* * *

As Lacey wiped the counter for closing, Rose of Sharon Cassidy took another swig from her bottle. Savoring the numbing burn by swishing that last goddamn drop throughout her mouth until it saturated, she was a little pissed that there wasn't anymore alcohol for the night. Her vision was hardly blurred - and it really was a damn shame - but the Outpost had been lacking in caravans due to the hold-up through Nipton, and that meant a rapid decrease in the alcohol trade. She couldn't help but grin a little when poor bastard NCR soldiers would walk in asking for the hard stuff, only to find it sucked dry with nothing left but that watered down beer shit that even Fiends wouldn't touch. Hell, Cass was sure that they would have kicked her out of the outpost already - she drank all of their alcohol, slept in their cots (or even the damn couches if she needed to), and bitched at faggy Knight because of the dry-up in traders. Bah, it was probably because she didn't have anything _to_ trade; maybe she was just trying to keep herself preoccupied - God knew she had nothing to do anyway. The Mojave was going to waste, which meant a lot, especially since it was pretty damn haggard to begin with.

Sighing once, Cass contemplated roaming outside for the necessary ingredients to make her own personal brand of moonshine, but quickly went against it. Though there were patrols out, and though she sure as hell knew how to take care of herself, she didn't feel like leaving the bar. It was dark! Why would she go outside while it was _dark_? Sucking one of her molars to collect the taste of whiskey in her mouth down to the gums, she examined the empty bottle in her hand. Didn't know why, but she didn't feel like thinking. Or moving. Or sleeping.

_Oh great - I'm apathetic drunk._

The worst kind of feeling (or rather lack-of).

Hell, there must have been loads of things wrong with the world at that moment in time, because only twice had she been "apathetic drunk." Once when her mother died, and the second when her caravan died. Damn, were those two days to be remembered, and then forgotten with a chug of sweet, sweet bitter-burning-hellish homemade alcohol. With a little "heh" escaping her lips, she clearly remembered breaking loose all of her wrath and then some the day she buried her mother. She also recalled the day she got word that some drunken smuggler bastard in one of the bars she frequented started calling her Whiskey Rose. It was a small bar in some old torn-down yet renovated (_talk about redundant_) shed off some interstate, and he got a mouthful of her knuckles after she downed that bottle, only adding credibility to her name. Scooting out of her bar stool, she leaned back and stretched her arms out with a small yawn, pinched with nostalgia.

Yep, those were the days!

She was just starting out her caravan then. Those were some damn good times.

Wiping her mouth with the back of a freckled hand, Cass blinked to herself. She needed to go out and do something. Go pester Knight and insist that she saw him staring at that new recruit's ass. Turning the whiskey bottle around in her hand for the third time, she looked up at the ceiling and cracked her neck in contemplation. Huh... maybe she _should_ go to sleep. It would keep her thoughts from getting to her and slapping her in the face. Thinking when drunk was never a good combo, especially since she didn't particularly feel like instigating any bar-brawls. Oh wait, it was _closing time_ at an uptight NCR outpost that apparently had a Legion spear shoved up it's ass. She grinned a little.

_There ain't no one in here to pick a fight with, 'sides Lacey. And she has to deal with my shit everyday!_

Lacey and Cass had known each other for a little while now, so it wasn't like they were strangers. Cass had been soliciting the bar for longer than any other traveler in the history of the Mojave Outpost, so one could say that they were... _acquainted_. However, they weren't particularly friends, nor where they particularly enemies. To some of the more educated folk around, they would have to say that it was indefinitely a parasitic relationship. And, the woman with the shotgun and a bad reputation for being a drinker, knew this all too well. Cass repositioned her hat and snickered to herself.

As if on cue, Lacey looked over at her with her usual look of exasperation. For the past few hours, they were the only ones in the bar, excluding a twenty-something-looking patrolman passed out on one of the chairs. Cass returned Lacey's expression with her usual buzzed sneer. However, Lacey was already accustomed to Cass's drunken behavior; so, it was prevalent that the drunk bitch sitting in one of _her_ barstools was getting kicked out of the building very soon - no hard feelings, it was all routine.

"You know," Lacey said, "there is only two bottles left of whiskey 'til we're out. And, who knows when the next caravan will arrive."

With a smirk, Cass flipped her the bird.

"No worries, I got a recipe." She held her empty bottle up in a toast, "Hell to caravans."

Lacey rolled her eyes, making a mental note to go hide the fission batteries. Running a hand through her hair, she walked over to lock the cash register, and do one last run-down before she closed the bar. With a sideways look, she shrugged over at Cass. At least they were able to have a civil conversation, though any bystander passing though probably wouldn't have found their type of smalltalk "civil."

"If the NCR doesn't get anybody in Nipton to see what's wrong, this place'll be going under."

The woman with the shotgun strapped to her back chuckled darkly and mumbled a little too loudly:

"It's _been_ going under...like th' radio."

But with that, Cass thought a moment. She was no tactician - contrarily, she was all action now and consequence later - but what Lacey was getting at was a good point. According to Knight, lately Camp McCarran had been turbulent with some semi-confidential internal issues. Spies or some shit. The Powder Gangers up north have been a growing threat with their capture of the prison. _Bunch of dumbasses if ya ask me - prisoners willingly living in the prison._ The Strip was, well, _the Strip_. Fiends overran so much of that area that it costed an arm, leg, and a few good shells just to get to the gates of Freeside. Nelson and Cottonwood Cove were Legion hellholes. Camp Searchlight had the potential to melt your skin off if you sat there long enough. HELIOS One had a crackpot retard scientist doing absolutely nothing but banging rocks with rocks and calling it mathematical theory. The Mojave Outpost was a small, yet significant branch of the NCR; but, if you stayed there long enough as Cass did, you start forgetting that there are two giant-ass statues in an eternal handshake. She nibbled on her bottom lip in contemplation. The outpost received the goods from the caravans, and then distributed them among the travelers, other camps, and the patrolmen. Whatever was holding up the trading was bleeding the NCR dry, starting with the source of goods.

_Ha, seems like the almighty New California Republic needs someone to do their dirty work. Hell if it's gonna be me._

Quirking a red eyebrow, she continued nibbling her bottom lip. Well, as thought of before, it wouldn't hurt if she actually got up and did something. Every NCR soldier at the outpost knew that all Cass had been doing was sit on her ass since her caravan got sacked. A good adventure anywhere but the Mojave Outpost would be good for her... excluding her liver. That organ was already screwed, so no need to fix what was already broken.

With that last thought, Rose of Sharon Cassidy looked forlornly at her empty whiskey bottle, then with a rush of determination, quickly stood up. She was finally down from her buzz, and it really was a damn shame, but with quick nod to Lacey, Cass was on her way. Before she opened the door, she kicked the boot of the inebriated patrolman passed out on the chair, and he jumped in shock with a disgruntled yelp. But as he flew from the chair onto his NCR ass, she was already out into the cool desert air, on her way to the barracks for a dreamless night of discontent sleep.

* * *

Somewhere near the road parallel to the Ivanpah Dry Lake, a man was shooting off the antennae of a giant ant with a 9mm pistol. Causing one hell of a frenzy, he whistled a small tune.

* * *

**We'll see where we're going with this. I'm pretty much like Cass when it comes to writing: _all action now and consequence later. _Please review! Would be greatly appreciated! If you find any errors, please don't hesitate to mention them!**


End file.
